


#116

by shadowen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Everyone needs to get their shit together, F/F, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Phil writes fan fiction, Pining, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the same old story every time, but Clint keeps hoping for a better ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#116

**Author's Note:**

> _Let me not to the marriage of true minds_  
>  _Admit impediments. Love is not love_  
>  _Which alters when it alteration finds,_  
>  _Or bends with the remover to remove:_  
>  _O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,_  
>  _That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;_  
>  _It is the star to every wandering bark,_  
>  _Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._  
>  _Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_  
>  _Within his bending sickle's compass come;_  
>  _Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_  
>  _But bears it out even to the edge of doom._  
>  _If this be error and upon me proved,_  
>  _I never writ, nor no man ever loved._  
>  -Sonnet #116, William Shakespeare
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _  
> _  
> _  
> _Thanks to darkmagyk for the inspiration, hoosierbitch for the fantastic beta, and teatrousers for being a guinea pig. <3_____
> 
>  
> 
>  

“When I was in highschool, I used to write Captain America fan fiction.”

Clint feels like one wrong move will make his insides come spilling out. It might; there’s still a piece of shrapnel between his ribs. He manages to cough out a laugh. “Fucking kidding me.”

Coulson shakes his head. “Not just little short stories, either. I would write these big, sprawling epics. They were terrible.”

He’s been talking to Clint for an hour straight, while they wait for medevac, and his voice has gone hoarse. Clint feels a lot colder now than he did an hour ago, and the pressure of Coulson’s hand on the worst of his wounds has turned into a far-off pain. He lost one of his hearing aids in the blast, and all sound has gone thin and staticky. Coulson’s voice is real and solid though, and Clint clings to it like the lifeline that it is.

“Lemme guess,” Clint wheezes, his breathing wet and thin inside his chest. “Cap falls for some young soldier, and they get busy behind the barracks.”

A fit of coughing follows, and Clint can feel the blood splashing inside his mouth. Coulson doesn’t say anything, his face doesn’t change, but Clint knows. The medics are overdue, the comms are silent, and Clint is running out of time.

“You should try not to talk too much,” Coulson says as the coughing subsides. Normally, when officers tell Clint to shut up, it’s an order, but the last order Coulson gave him was, _Get down! Get down! The doors are rigged!_

“So you talk. Keep talking to me,” Clint manages to say. Coulson’s right. Talking is hard.

“Of course. Um...” After an hour, Coulson’s conversation supply is running thin. “Sure, you know, I was a terrible writer. What I lacked in skill, I made up in volume, I guess, but it was just awful. I would send stories in to these fan magazines, and sometimes they’d send them back. One person even mailed me a dictionary and thesaurus. Which did help a little, to be fair. I knew I was bad, too, I just thought that, if I kept at it long enough, I was bound to get better eventually.”

He pauses. Clint can feel the pressure of his hands shift. They must be cramping by now and Clint can’t tell him that it’s probably for nothing.

After a moment, Coulson goes on, “There was one that wasn’t too bad. It was set during the war, and it starts with the Howling Commandoes getting captured by a Hydra squad that’s been hiding in the French countryside...”

Clint loses the thread sometime after Peggy Carter and her faithful assistant storm in like a force of nature to rescue them, and, just as Agent Carter and the wounded Captain Rogers share a look full of longing and passion, Clint slips completely into silence.

He doesn’t die, obviously, but the month of physical therapy that follows almost makes him wish that he had. Coulson orders him to take it easy and starts bringing him dinner in the evenings, just to make sure the order is followed. They don’t talk much, about what happened or about anything else, and, in the quiet companionship, Clint feels something that he can’t put a word to.

Some of his recovery might be spent researching Captain America fanzines from the 70s and 80s, but no one needs to know that.

***  
Title: If This Be Error  
Author: startoevery  
Chapters: 23/24  
Fandom: Captain America - RPF  
Rating: Mature  
Warnings: Mild Violence  
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter  
Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes, Original Male Character  
Additional Tags: Romance, Wartime, Action, WWII, Star-crossed Lovers, Badass Peggy  
Summary: Steve doesn’t have much time for romance and dancing. There’s a war going on, after all.  
Part 1 of An Ever-Fixed Mark

***

The first time they fuck, it’s fast and dirty and less than twelve hours after they both nearly die in a helicopter crash. Then Clint avoids Coulson for a week because he’s sure that Coulson will have some speech prepared about how it was a one-time thing and affairs between agents are a bad idea and aren’t they better off as friends anyway, and that’s the last thing in the world Clint wants to hear.

A week is all he gets though, because they’re called up for a mission, and then it’s just the two of them in transit for six hours. Clint opens his mouth to... to say something, to apologize or brush it off or ask if they were okay, but he can’t get the words together before Coulson says, “So this guy walks into a bar and asks for helicopter-flavored potato chips, but the bartender shakes his head and says, ‘Sorry, we only have plane’.”

Clint turns to stare at him, but Coulson just keeps his eyes straight ahead, gazing mildly through the cockpit window. Shaking his head, Clint turns back to his controls.

After a long beat of silence, he snorts, “Fucking _plane_.” Beside him, Coulson laughs, and Clint finds himself grinning. “Okay, okay, how about this. Did you hear the one about the guy who’s afraid of flying?”

Two hours into the flight, they get stuck on dick jokes and dirty stories, and Clint’s world tilts back into place.

Four hours in, Clint says, “So I wanna hear more about this terrible fan fiction you used to write.”

Coulson blinks at him. “What? How did y-” His eyes widen. “Wait, did I tell you about that in Bahrain?”

“Why the surprise? I was listening.”

“You were _dying_.”

“So?” Coulson gives him a horrified look, and Clint shrugs. “I mean, if it’s the last conversation you’re ever gonna have, wouldn’t you pay attention?”

He can’t quite decipher the expression that crosses Coulson’s face, and it seems to take Coulson a second to find what he wants to say. “I’m very glad you didn’t die while listening to a synopsis of my awful fan fiction.”

“Coulda been worse. I was kinda getting into it, before I passed out.”

“Liar,” Coulson says, but he’s smiling.

“Am not,” Clint protests. “Come on. So I remember Peggy being all badass and then eyefucking Steve. But they can’t go straight back to the camp, right? They have to go stop the Hydra courier?” There’s no answer, and Clint turns to find Coulson staring at him curiously. “What?”

“You really were...” Coulson shakes his head. “If you ever attempt to use any of this for blackmail, I’ll put you on archives duty for a year.” Clint draws an X over his heart and gives Coulson a shit-eating grin. “Fine. Alright, they have to intercept the courier before he can get to Paris, so Steve, Peggy, Bucky, and Peggy’s assistant, Peter, set out on their own...”

Even in the two hours left in the flight, Coulson doesn’t finish telling the story, but he calms Clint’s objections, promising a mostly happy ending. Clint figures that’s good enough, for now.

***

Title: Bends with the Remover  
Author: startoevery  
Chapters: 17/17  
Fandom: Captain America - RPF  
Rating: Explicit  
Warnings: Violence  
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes/OMC  
Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes, Original Male Character  
Additional Tags: Roman AU, Soldiers, Battlefield Romance, Casual Sex, Pining, Infidelity  
Summary: Comfort is hard to come by, this far from home, but they do the best that they can.  
Part 3 of An Ever-Fixed Mark

***

The second time they fuck, it’s... It’s different.

Coulson has a hand wrapped around Clint's cock, stroking slowly, and his mouth is hot and desperate against Clint's, all tangled tongues and teeth. Clint wants to tell him to hurry up, but making words would mean moving away from this kiss. His own hands are everywhere, roaming, reaching, trying to touch all of Coulson at once. It’s overwhelming, crushing down on him, and Clint realizes that his lungs are burning with the need to breathe.

He breaks away, gasping, and Coulson pauses, his eyes dark with need. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. I’m fine,” Clint pants, rolling his hips up into Coulson’s fist. “Come on. Faster. You’re killin’ me.”

“I’m sorry, are you in a hurry?” Coulson grins wickedly and resumes his strokes, even slower than before, and Clint moans.

“Sooner you get me off, the sooner I can blow you,” Clint replies, and he’s rewarded as Coulson breathes in sharply.

“Maybe I want to take my time,” Coulson says, trailing hot kisses down the side of Clint’s neck. “Maybe I like seeing you like this.”

Clint gets a grip on Coulson’s short hair and tugs. “Asshole.”

Coulson laughs, his breath puffing on Clint’s tender skin, and he bites down on Clint’s collar bone. Clint arches into him with a cry, and god he’s so fucking close.

“Oh fuck. Yes. Come on. Come on, _please_ ,” Clint begs, and Coulson’s hand speeds up as his lips come back to Clint’s for a hard, graceless kiss. Then there’s a soft scrape of fingernail against the head of his cock, and Clint comes so suddenly that he bites down on Coulson’s lip.

Coulson growls, but he doesn’t stop kissing Clint. He keeps kissing and touching and soothing until the orgasm is over, and then he puts his arm around Clint and holds him as the world comes back into focus.

“Are you okay? Are you good?” Coulson asks with a breathless sincerity that Clint doesn’t know what to do with. He answers with another kiss and rolls Coulson roughly onto his back.

Clint’s body is warm and loose, and it’s all he can do to flop around on the bed and get his mouth around Coulson’s cock. He doesn’t waste any time, drawing in as much length as he can and giving a long, hard suck right to the tip. 

With a gasp, Coulson fists a hand in Clint’s hair, like he’s holding on for dear life. “Oh god, _Clint_ , yes.”

Clint shuts his eyes and lowers himself back down, wrapping his tongue around the hot, hard flesh. Coulson’s fingernails scrape across Clint’s scalp, and Clint can feel the muscles tense as Coulson tries to keep still.

“God, that’s good. You’re so good. So good,” he groans, and Clint fights down the pleased feeling that bubbles up in his stomach. 

He can taste the burst of salt as Coulson gets closer, and he presses hard on Coulson’s thighs, holding him down as Clint moves his mouth faster, wet and messy, until Coulson gives a warning tug on his hair. Clint pulls off, but he keeps licking long stripes up the side of Coulson’s cock as it pulses and shoots come across Coulson’s stomach.

“Oh my god,” Coulson pants, and Clint grunts agreement, twisting himself around to sprawl at Coulson’s side. After a moment, Clint gives into the impulse to curl in close and stretch an arm over Coulson’s chest. He might as well take what he can while it’s offered; he can always blame it on afterglow, and it won’t last long, anyway. 

Sure enough, when his breathing has evened out and his heart has slowed under Clint’s arm, Coulson says casually, “I should probably go.”

Clint doesn’t sigh, doesn’t tense or give any sign of the cold stab in his gut. He just rolls away, giving Coulson room to move. “Yeah. Sure.” As Coulson sits up on the edge of the bed, Clint can’t help but add, “I mean, you don’t have to run out the door.”

“I’m not... That’s not what this is,” Coulson replies, but he doesn’t look at Clint when he says it and doesn’t stop reaching for his clothes. “I thought you’d want to get some sleep before we head out tomorrow, and I have to be up early for the briefing. I didn’t want t-”

“Whatever. It’s fine,” Clint grumbles. He doesn’t say, _I can sleep with you here_ , and he definitely doesn’t say, _I want you to stay._ “North stairwell opens behind the apartments in an alley off third. You can probably get out that way without being seen.” Clint can feel Coulson’s eyes on his back as he hauls himself up and makes for the bathroom, but he doesn’t turn to see what kind of expression is watching him. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Okay,” Coulson says quietly, and that’s the last Clint hears before the bathroom door clicks shut.

He still doesn’t know how the story ends.

***

Title: That Looks on Tempests  
Author: startoevery  
Chapters: 28/28  
Fandom: Captain America - RPF  
Rating: Explicit  
Warnings: Violence  
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Peggy Carter/Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter/Bucky Barnes  
Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes, Original Male Character  
Additional Tags: Space Travel AU, Exploration, Adventure, Futurism, Sentient Space Ship, Threesomes solve a lot of problems  
Summary: Too much time in deep space can make anyone a little stir crazy. It’s a good thing they have distractions.  
Part 4 of An Ever-Fixed Mark

***

It takes him two years, three aliases, an awkward conversation with a collector in Taiwan, the weirdest email chain Clint’s ever engaged in, and a not-insubstantial amount of money, but it’s all worth it when he tears open the envelope and pulls out a thick magazine in a plastic sleeve.

The woman who sold it to him refused to scan the relevant pages for him, insisting it would fall apart, and Clint can see why. The magazine is cheaply made, and the paper is brittle with age and disuse. There’s a date on the cover that Clint thinks should correspond to Coulson’s junior year of highschool, and Clint ignores the “Instructions for Handling” note that falls out of the cover as he flips quickly through the pages.

The story, when he finds it, is not what he expected.

It’s not the whole story, just an installment marked “Chapters 9-16” that covers the middle of the action, which Clint’s already heard. When he sits down to read it, he quickly makes two unsettling realizations. One, that Coulson was right, and it is _terrible_. The longer he reads, the more Clint thinks that ‘terrible’ might even be too generous. It’s awful and overwritten, and the dialogue is fucking painful. Clint’s not really a literary kind of guy - he likes biographies and the kind of comics that use POW! and BAM! - but he knows bad writing when it’s boring into his eyeballs.

The second thing he realizes is that Peggy Carter’s faithful assistant, the young Agent Peter Star, is Coulson. In the retelling, Coulson had mostly glossed over the parts with Star, painting him as a background figure and hanger-on in the grand saga of Captain America. In writing, Star is smart, efficient, and desperately earnest as he fumbles shyly alongside the heroes, and Clint can see so clearly how a younger version of Coulson would have cast himself in this part.

Clint’s chest tightens to see this parody of the Coulson he knows, and to see it written _so badly_. He’d stop reading, except... except that it’s Coulson, and this perspective unfurls so many new answers and mysteries. He reads all eight chapters, then flips back and reads them again.

He winds up reading the whole magazine, and he _still_ doesn’t know how the story ends. 

***

Title: When It Alteration Finds  
Author: startoevery  
Chapters: 23/23  
Fandom: Captain America - RPF  
Rating: Mature  
Warnings: None  
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes/OMC  
Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes, Original Male Character  
Additional Tags: Elizabethan AU, Theatre AU, Actors, Romance, Spies and Secret Agents, Espionage, Shakespeare  
Summary: On the stage, they tell the truth with pretty lies. Backstage, they trade secrets for uneasy peace.  
Part 5 of An Ever-Fixed Mark

***

The third time they have sex goes about the same as the second, and there’s not much variation in the fourth, fifth... Well, they’re deep in the double digits, now, and a pattern has definitely been established. There’s a small, deeply-buried part of Clint that thinks maybe, just once, Coulson will stay or ask Clint to, but it never happens. It’s like getting shot, Clint thinks; it never hurts less, but he’s gotten used to it.

And then there’s the thing with Natasha.

“I made the right call,” Clint says for what must be the thousandth time that day. “You know I made the right call. You said so yourself.”

Coulson just keeps driving. He hasn’t spoken to Clint directly since Clint returned from Istanbul with the world’s most notorious covert operative trailing along behind him, looking suspicious and curious by turns. Clint’s getting a little tired of the silent treatment.

“Yes, I went off mission. Yes, it could have turned out to be a really stupid decision, but it wasn’t.”

Coulson pulls into a parking space in front of Clint’s apartment building and gets out, retrieving a half-empty bottle of tequila from the back seat and heading for the door with Clint following obediently after him. The bottle, whose normal residence is a drawer in Coulson’s office, had a bit more liquid in it before Clint left for this mission.

“It was the right choice.” As long as no one’s yelling at him, Clint’s going to keep pleading his case, and it matters more, somehow, that Coulson understands than that the disciplinary board grants him absolution. “I mean, you took a chance on me, right? And that hasn’t blown up in anyone’s face.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Coulson gives Clint a look.

“Well, it hasn’t blown up in _your_ face. At least, metaphorically.” There have been a few literal explosions, but only some of those were Clint’s fault.

At Clint’s door, Coulson stands aside to let Clint open the locks. Coulson has a key and knows the codes, but Clint supposes he’s being polite. The moment they’re inside, Coulson puts a hand on Clint’s chest and presses him back against the closed door, quickly crossing the distance between them. Clint’s expecting a hard, desperate, glad-you’re-not-dead kind of kiss, but what he gets is... not that.

Coulson is still holding the tequila, so there’s no contact but the touch of their lips and his hand held over Clint’s heart. He doesn’t push, doesn’t crowd in, just kisses Clint gently for so long that, when he finally breaks away, Clint feels breathless and dizzy.

“So, uh, I guess you’re not mad at me?”

Frowning, Coulson steps back, heading for the kitchenette, and Clint feels colder as he moves away. “I was,” he admits. “I was furious. What you did was...” He shakes his head and takes two chipped coffee mugs out of the cabinet, one of which has _Coulson_ scrawled on it in permanent marker. “Rarely in my life have I been as angry as I was when you switched off that comm.”

Sheepishly, Clint accepts the glass that Coulson holds out for him. “It was the...”

“Right call. Yes, I know. I’m not faulting you for that.” Coulson takes a drink and doesn’t look up at Clint when he says, “You just... scared me.”

Clint blinks. “What did you think I was gonna do? Hop over to the KGB and sell SHIELD secrets for beer money?”

The look Coulson gives him is so utterly baffled, Clint wonders if one of them has stopped speaking English. “What? No. I wasn’t afraid of what you might do. I was afraid of what might happen to you.”

“...oh.” Clint sips on his own drink, mostly to distract himself from the confusion churning in his stomach. “Well. Sorry. Guess this means you don’t have to go find a new fuckbuddy, at least.”

It’s entirely the wrong thing to say, and Clint knows it before he’s finished speaking. Coulson’s expression darkens, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he tells Clint coolly, “Officially, you’re on disciplinary probation until further notice. You’re allowed to go between your apartment and the base, and you’re to be accompanied by another agent at all times when you’re not on SHIELD property.”

The good feelings lingering in Clint’s brain from the kiss flush away in a second. “That’s why you’re here. You’re on guard duty.”

To Clint’s surprise, Coulson knocks back the rest of his drink, scowling. “I’m here because I thought you’d prefer my company to spending the night in a holding cell,” he answers evenly. “I can have someone else assigned to stay with you for the duration of your probation, if you prefer.”

Clint wants to say no more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. He wants to apologize and ask Coulson to stay the night, stay the week, stay... Well, _forever_ is too much but _for a long fucking time_ feels about right. He settles for, “After what I pulled, anyone else might have orders to kill me in my sleep.”

Coulson raises an eyebrow. “How do you know I don’t?”

“Maybe you do,” Clint admits. He considers his glass for a moment, then slides it across the counter toward Coulson, who takes it without looking. “But you wouldn’t kill me in my sleep.”

If Coulson had orders to cross Clint off, it would be poison in his coffee, something quick and easy. No pain, no violence, and no chance for Clint to fight back.

After a beat of silence, Coulson agrees, “No, I wouldn’t.” 

“So, I guess you’re stuck with me. Sorry about that.” Clint doesn’t know if he’s actually sorry or not, but it seems like the thing to say.

“It’s not...” Coulson sighs. “You should probably get some rest.”

Clint shrugs. “Not tired.”

“You’ve been awake for nearly forty hours. Go to bed.”

It takes some energy, but Clint works up a dirty grin. “You coming with me?”

A flicker of something crosses Coulson’s face, and he drains Clint’s glass before answering, “No. No, I think I’m going to stay out here and reconsider my life choices.”

Clint doesn’t want to think about where he falls in those choices. “You can’t reconsider them from a nice, warm bed instead of standing in my kitchen like a creeper?” He grabs the bottle of tequila before Coulson can pour any more. “A _drunk_ creeper?”

“I’m not drunk,” Coulson protests. “Yet. What I’ve had will probably kick in in about five minutes. Then I’ll be drunk.”

“And wouldn’t you rather be horizontal and on your way to a good orgasm when that happens?” Clint shoves at Coulson’s shoulder. “Come on. Otherwise, I’ll just stay up looking at porn.”

Coulson rolls his eyes, but he allows himself to be led into the bedroom, muttering, “This is a terrible idea,” as Clint sucks kisses down his neck. 

They get exactly as far as mostly naked and in bed before they’re both asleep, snoring and tangled up in each other’s arms. Clint wakes up long enough to piss and take out his hearing aids and sleeps for a solid ten hours in warm, silent contentment.

Clint spends most of his three-week probation living in Coulson’s pocket, which is hardly new behavior, and they spend every night wrapped around each other in Clint’s bed. On the twenty-second night, they have marathon, mind-blowing, bed-breaking sex, and Clint resolves to ask for more in the morning, more of this nearness, more of the still peace in between climaxes.

The next day, Coulson leaves before Clint can get the words together, and Clint doesn’t let himself feel like he’s lost something. He uses what’s left of his downtime to scour the internet for Captain America fan fiction and maybe, he hopes, the rest of that damn story.

***

Title: Although His Height be Taken  
Author: startoevery  
Chapters: 36/36  
Fandom: Captain America - RPF  
Rating: Teen  
Warnings: None  
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, Peggy Carter/Bucky Barnes, Peggy Carter/OMC  
Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes, Original Male Character  
Additional Tags: Regency AU, Romance, Society Drama, Manners and Etiquette, Marriage, Awkward Flirting  
Summary: Regarding the selection of a husband, Peggy found herself spoiled for choice and yet with no inclination to choose at all, however dashing these young soldiers may be.  
Part 6 of An Ever-Fixed Mark

***

Coulson lied. Yes, he did write fan fiction in high school, but there’s no used to about it.

Armed with details from the fragment in the fanzine, Clint... doesn’t actually find the rest of the story. What he does find is an entire series of something called “AUs” - they make a lot more sense once he figures out what that stands for - featuring Captain America, various romantic combinations, and a recurring, unobtrusive side character named Peter Star.

Some of the stories have obviously been reposted from other websites and have notes with original publication dates, and Clint knows enough of Coulson’s personal history to track the stories through his time in highschool, with the army, and into SHIELD. The last few stories don’t have earlier dates attached though, and the most recent looks like it was finished only a year before.

“Son of a bitch,” Clint mutters, scrolling through the list. “Son of a _bitch_.”

After working up some significant courage, Clint brings it up with Hill. She listens patiently as he tells her about the story and the magazine and the website, and she gives him an odd look.

“Do you think maybe you’re obsessing a little?”

“No.” Clint deflates. “Probably. Yes. I dunno. I’m just trying to figure it out.”

Hill raises an eyebrow. “Figure out the story? Or figure out Coulson?”

Clint opens his mouth, and then closes it. “Huh.”

“ _Huh_.” Hill sighs. “Coulson’s easy. He likes breakfast food, bad tv, and really old crap. What you need to figure out is the most effective use of that information as it pertains to your mission.”

Clint frowns. “I don’t have a mission.”

With another sigh, Hill claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, Barton, you do.”

It takes a week for Clint to admit that, yeah, maybe he does, but things get a little clearer, after that.

It’s a multi-phase mission with an end goal that ultimately boils down to ‘Date Coulson’. Phase One, he decides, is ‘Get Coulson to Spend the Night Again’, which he thinks is a reasonable first step, even if they haven’t had sex since those three perfect weeks. 

Given the information at his disposal, Clint develops a plan of attack and begins the process of adding a new skill to his considerable arsenal. Once he’s progressed to an acceptable level, he moves into the testing stage and acquires a subject.

Hill eyes the plate suspiciously as he sets it down in front of her, but she dutifully picks up her fork and cuts a small wedge out of the stack of pancakes. Examining the bite from every angle, she makes a considering face, as if judging the color and consistency, until Clint is ninety percent sure that she’s just fucking with him. Finally, she puts the bite in her mouth and chews with a thoughtful expression.

Clint watches her swallow and groans as she reaches, wordlessly, for another bite. “Aw, c’mon. You gotta give me something, here.”

After a moment, Hill swallows her second bite and nods. “That’s a damn fine pancake.”

Clint lets out a breath of relief and sinks into the chair across from her. “So you think it’ll be good enough?”

“Good enough for what?” She’s eating with enthusiasm, now, and talking around the food in her mouth. “You already got him to fuck you. What are you gonna do with pancakes? Propose?” 

“Yeah, I was gonna hide the ring in some whipped cream and wait for him to choke on it.” Clint pauses. “Did that sound as dirty as I think it did?”

Hill nods, but she gives Clint a sympathetic look. “You don’t have to make perfect pancakes to impress him. I guarantee, if you make him breakfast, he’ll follow you around with his mouth on your dick for a week.”

“That’s... a much less sexy image than I would’ve thought,” Clint tells her. “But thanks.”

He enacts his plan at the first opportunity, following a fast mission and the slowest debrief in the history of ever. It’s late by the time everything is finished, and, as they’re walking out, Clint asks casually, “Do you like pancakes?”

Coulson blinks at him in exhausted confusion. A fast mission usually means a few days without sleep, and it looks like Coulson’s weathering it a little worse than usual. “What?”

“Pancakes,” Clint says. “I’ve been practicing cooking. Working on the whole domestic thing. But y’know how you eat the same thing too many times, and you can’t tell if it’s terrible or if you’re just sick of it? So I thought maybe I could make you some pancakes, and you can tell me how much they suck.”

Coulson frowns. “You... want to make pancakes? At three in the morning?”

“What? No. Like for breakfast.” _Play it cool, Barton_. “I dunno. I thought you might wanna stay at my place, since it’s closer, and I could make breakfast in the morning.”

None of his hope leaches into his voice. He’s careful to clamp down on the shaking in his chest so that it doesn’t escape any further than his skin.

Coulson stares at Clint like there’s an angle he can’t figure out, then says slowly. “No. Thank you, but no. It’s been a long few days, and I think I’d rather just sleep in my own bed.”

A cold, hollow feeling replaces his anticipation, and Clint doesn’t let that show, either. “Oh. Right. Sure. Okay. Maybe some other time, then.”

“Maybe,” Coulson replies politely, and Clint will never ever let anyone know how much that courtesy stings.

After they part ways, Clint pauses, letting himself breathe, and nearly jumps out of his skin as Natasha appears beside him.

"That was smooth," she remarks coolly.

"Busybody," Clint grumbles, and she sniffs.

"No, just nosey," she says. "If I were a busybody, I'd tell you to stop beating your head against the wall and try a different approach." She smiles sweetly. "But I'm not, so I won't."

“Yeah, thanks, Aunt Abby.” Clint scowls as she saunters away. He’s spent enough time with Natasha to know that she knows people, how they work, how to make them work for her, and he’s only a little uncomfortable with the thought that she probably knows him a little better than he’d like her to.

So his initial attempt at Phase One was a bust. Maybe it’s time to take a page from the Natasha Romanov superspy handbook and employ a little subtlety.

Clint sighs. Subtle. Right.

When he does finally make it to bed, he falls asleep with his tablet on his chest, halfway through the third fic in the series. 

***

Title: Even to the Edge of Doom  
Author: startoevery  
Chapters: 19/19  
Fandom: Captain America - RPF  
Rating: Explicit  
Warnings: Violence, Character Death  
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter  
Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes, Original Male Character  
Additional Tags: Post-apocalyptic AU, Dieselpunk AU, Distant future, Amputation, Body modification, Assault, Revenge, Major character death, Darkfic  
Summary: By the time everything ends, there’s not much left of humanity - Steve’s or anyone else’s.  
Part 7 of An Ever-Fixed Mark

***

The second attempt is marginally more successful until a series of events throws all of Clint’s plans into chaos.

After consultation and further eye rolling from Hill, he revises the objective of Phase One to ‘Get Coulson to Like Me A Lot’, which he divides into three stages: the basic needs stage, the friendship stage, and the recon stage. He and Coulson have known each other a long time, been colleagues and friends and fuckbuddies, but there’s still a distance between them that Clint figures will only be bridged with a concentrated effort.

He’s well into the first stage, which mostly consists of providing Coulson with steady supply of food and coffee and making sure he sleeps sometimes, when Coulson starts seeing someone else. 

“I should have said something. It just... It happened so fast, and I...” Coulson falters. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m sorry.”

Carefully, Clint schools his face into a mask of polite interest. “The woman from the Portland op? Audrey?” Coulson nods. “Okay. Good. I liked her. She’s nice.”

“She is,” Coulson agrees, and he smiles in a way that slices up Clint’s insides.

Clint makes himself smile in reply and says again, “Good.” 

He continues with the basic needs stage, because Coulson might no longer be available, but he still needs food, coffee, and sleep, and initiates the second stage, which involves figuring out the whole supportive friendship thing, because Coulson probably needs that, too.

The friendship stage is well underway when they find Steve Rogers. Coulson is ecstatic, and Clint can’t help but be delighted along with him, even if it feels like watching the remains of Clint’s hope go up in flames. Even if Clint had ever dreamed of competing with Audrey - who Coulson is still seeing and who is, apparently, amazing - he’ll be the first to admit that he could never compete with Captain America.

Fortunately, the Cap development fits seamlessly into the recon stage of Phase One, which mostly comes down to _listen more_ , and Clint learns to guide the conversation away from Rogers and onto Coulson. Why Captain America? How did he get into it? Where did he get the cards?

“I needed it,” Coulson tells him quietly one night. They’re in his quarters at Project Pegasus, sitting on the floor with styrofoam plates from the commissary. Coulson has only just arrived in Nevada, and, thousands of miles away, Steve Rogers has just arrived in the twenty-first century. “When I was a kid, I needed that. Not just having a hero to look up to, but believing that there was someone - someone real - to protect the people no one else would. I needed to believe that there was someone who would stand up for kids like me and that maybe I could grow up to be someone like that.”

There’s nothing Clint can say to that, so he just moves closer and bumps his shoulder against Coulson’s. He’s learned more about Coulson in the past week than in the last four years, and it turns out all he had to do was listen.

There’s probably a deaf joke in there, somewhere.

After a moment, he does come up with something to say. “I think you did alright with that. Getting to be the that kind of person, I mean. Ten minutes with you, and Rogers’ll ask you to be _his_ hero.”

Clint’s never seen Coulson blush before, but he immediately decides that he wants to see it again. “I sincerely doubt Captain Rogers will have ten minutes to spare, especially for me,” Coulson says, and Clint rolls his eyes.

“Please. If you two aren’t BFFs in a month, I’ll eat my bowstring.” There is no stab of jealousy as he says it. There isn’t.

“I’m not going to pull it out of your ass when you pass it,” Coulson replies. Clint blinks back at him. “You know, like when cats or dogs eat string, they pass the end of it, and sometimes you have to pull it out of their asshole.”

Clint sits there blinking for a second more, then says, “Considering the things I’ve put in your ass, it seems only fair that you’d pull something out of mine.”

“You pull things out of your ass all the time,” Coulson shoots back.

Clint gives him a broad grin. “And look how great that usually turns out.”

Coulson snorts and goes back to his salisbury steak, shaking his head. Clint reaches over to steal a french fry and gets poked with a fork for his trouble. _This is good_ , Clint thinks. _This is enough._

Suddenly, the evacuation alarm sounds, and they’re on their feet and out the door, dinner and camaraderie forgotten, as they race toward the tesseract room. They nearly collide with a terrified scientist rounding a corner in the other direction.

“ _Please_ tell me someone sat on a console and set off that alarm by mistake,” Coulson demands, but the scientist just gapes back at him with wide eyes, her face tense and pale. That’s all the answer they need. “Shit,” Coulson mutters, pushing past her down the hall.

When they reach it, the room is lit with blue lightning that arcs out from the tesseract in jagged claws, like it’s trying to open tears in the air itself. Following Coulson through the door, Clint agrees, “Oh, _shit_.”

The room is in chaos, and they’re still trying to get a decent sitrep when Selvig arrives, looking dishevelled and perplexed. Finally, Coulson gets enough of the picture to make a decision and orders Clint, “Stay here, figure out what happened, and stay sharp. Comms on. Let me know if anything changes.”

“Yes, sir,” Clint says, already moving toward the security grid to get a look at the cameras, but Coulson stops him with a hand on his arm.

“If this thing goes critical, and there’s no way to stop it or slow it down, you clear this room and get the hell out. Do you understand?” Coulson’s voice is low, his eyes intent as they hold Clint in place.

Clint swallows. “Yes, sir.”

Coulson nods and adds, “Be careful,” as he leaves.

Clint is careful. He is cautious and alert and everything he’s supposed to be, but it isn’t enough. His comm is still open when the spear presses into his chest, and a part of him wonders distantly if Coulson can hear Clint’s mind shattering into a thousand blue shards, if the loss of himself is audible or even marked.

Then he doesn’t wonder anything. He just obeys.

***

Title: Whose Worth’s Unknown  
Author: startoevery  
Chapters: 10/12  
Fandom: Captain America - RPF  
Rating: General Audiences  
Warnings: None  
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes  
Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Original Male Character  
Additional Tags: Modern AU, Coffeeshop AU, PTSD, Veteran Steve, Grieving, Friendship, Past character death  
Summary: Steve was expecting a different kind of homecoming.  
Part 8 of An Ever-Fixed Mark

***

Clint isn’t sure what he wants from Steve. Part of him wants Steve to hate him, to be angry or dismissive or throw him aside, just so the sense that Clint has failed Coulson entirely can be complete. He sure as hell doesn’t want Steve to _like_ him.

They seem to agree on that, as far as Clint can tell, and Steve treats him with a kind of friendly distance, polite and uncertain. He’s grieving, Clint knows, for the loss of everything he’s ever known, and Clint has some idea of what that feels like. Still, after the hours Clint has spent wrapped in Coulson’s absurd fantasies about the great Captain America, the lack of connection between them seems a little anticlimactic.

Until Coulson comes back.

When Coulson comes back, the entire universe turns upside down, and Clint, who is still under security quarantine and not allowed in sight of any senior agent above a level four, isn’t there for any of it. Suddenly, what Clint wants from Steve is attention, validation, confirmation that maybe Clint’s redemption can be as complete as his failure. He wants Steve to like him so that Steve will tell Coulson that Clint is good and brave and sorry, which is ridiculous and petty and Clint hates himself a little more for thinking it. 

Steve doesn’t reach out to him, though, and Clint doesn’t ask for anything. After Coulson comes back, the universe is changed, but Clint’s routine goes on as he spends most of his time on the range or in his cell - they’re not calling it a cell, but that’s what it is - reading fan fiction.

They’re confining him to the base, keeping him in temporary quarters, and his access is restricted to the housing block and training areas. He’s only allowed to see Natasha because she’s Natasha, and trying to restrict _her_ access would be an exercise in futility. She keeps him updated on the train of well-wishers and Coulson’s patient suffering until, one day, she tells Clint simply, “He asks about you.”

Clint’s heart does something he will never admit to. “Yeah?”

Natasha nods. “Every day, no matter who he’s talking to, it’s always, _How’s Agent Barton? Have you talked to Agent Barton? Did you hear about how Agent Barton did this?_ or _Agent Barton really likes that_. Stark’s almost ready to stick a pencil in his eye.”

“He’s...” _He misses me_. “Does he know...?”

“He knows where you are and why he can’t see you,” Natasha says. “What I don’t understand is why he hasn’t bullied someone into making an exception.”

“Just not worth it, I guess.” Clint’s been trying to figure out a way to circumvent security himself, but he can’t find a plan that doesn’t end with him in an actual prison cell for the rest of his probably very short life. “Anyway, between all his friends and the paperwork backlog, I’d be surprised if he had ten minutes to spare for me.”

Natasha gives him a withering look. “In that case, I’ll just leave you alone with your self-pity. I sincerely hope one of you grows a brain sometime soon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clint demands, but she’s already out the door. 

He sighs and, after a moment, settles onto the bed with his tablet. He’s reading the Shakespearean one, again. He likes that one.

Five months after the battle and one month after Coulson’s return, Clint’s confinement to the base is lifted, and he high-tails as fast as he can to his crappy apartment and his giant, luxurious, pillow-top bed. He hasn’t even made it to the shower when Tony Stark calls and invites him to come see the formerly-Stark-soon-to-be-Avengers Tower and subsequently offers him a job.

Natasha’s going to kill him. Hill’s going to kill him. Fury’s going to cut him into tiny pieces and serve him to the junior specialists as an object lesson. Coulson... Clint has no idea what Coulson’s going to do.

Which is why, two days later, he’s sitting in Coulson’s office, waiting patiently with a pile of forms and letters, every _i_ dotted and every _t_ crossed. He’s still not technically allowed to see Coulson and might still get thrown in a cell for the rest of his life, but Clint is so far beyond caring that he’s reached a point of indifferent acceptance. The only thing he cares about, the one thing he can’t countenance, is the thought of walking away without saying goodbye.

He thinks he’s prepared, that he’s worked up an appropriate degree of resolve to have this discussion, then the door opens and suddenly he can’t breathe. He is entirely unready for the sight of Coulson, alive and whole, after so long. If Clint ever harbored any doubts about what he feels and what he wants, they are gone now. When he sees Clint, Coulson’s permanent facade of calm splits down the middle to reveal something raw and trembling and impossibly hopeful. 

_I know_ , Clint wants to say. _I thought I was never gonna see you again, too_. Instead, he stands, heart in his throat, and somehow can’t manage to say anything.

It seems to take forever, but what finally breaks the silence is Coulson saying, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Clint coughs to hide the moment that everything inside him falls. “Yeah, I know, I just... wanted to drop these off.” 

He sets the papers down on Coulson’s desk, and Coulson watches him, frowning. “What are those?”

“Release papers, non-disclosure forms, letter of resignation, termination agreement,” Clint says. “My key to the exit door.”

Coulson stares at him for a moment, face blank and slack, then says quietly, “You’re leaving?”

“I’ve got another month till they can actually let me go, but... yeah. Soon as that’s up, I’m gone.” Clint pauses before adding, “Stark offered me a job. Development contract for some special systems.”

“You’re going to work for Tony Stark?” Coulson makes a face. “You’re leaving the top intelligence organization in the world to go play with toys in an overgrown nursery? Have you lost your mind?”

There were a lot of ways Clint imagined this might go. This, thankfully, is a scenario he has prepared for. He takes a deep breath and says calmly, “I know it seems crazy, but the truth is... The truth is that I’ve had it. I’ve had it with the secrets and spying and this endless fucking battle that nobody ever wins. I’ve had it with being a killer and an assassin, and I’ve had it with losing people I care about.” 

There’s still anger lingering in Coulson’s glare, and he’s listening with a tight jaw and clenched fists.

Clint sighs and sinks down to sit on the edge of the desk. “I’m _tired_ , Phil. I’m not getting out of the game, or anything, I just wanna take a shot at building something that won’t shake out from under me when the weather gets rough.”

Coulson regards him for a moment, then remarks, “Given Stark’s track record, I’d say you have a fifty-fifty chance.”

Clint snorts. “I meant, y’know, metaphorically building, but... Well, anyway, I don’t expect you to be happy with it, but it’s what I’ve gotta do right now.”

"It's your choice. Whether or not I'm happy with it is irrelevant," Coulson says flatly. Before Clint can protest, he asks, "What does Stark want you to do? Hide in his vents and scare off his shareholders?"

Clint bristles at that, but he answers evenly, "Targeted non-lethal projectile delivery systems. He wants to be able to neutralize hostiles in a crowd without any collateral risk." Clint shrugs. "It's probably a pity job, but at least I'll do some good."

"You're doing good here," Coulson tells him. "And I have a hard time picturing you locked up in one of Stark's labs."

"Better than being locked in here with a bunch of people who can't stand to look at me," Clint snaps. Coulson, on cue, drops his eyes, and Clint takes a deep breath. "I got a lot of good reasons to go and no good reason to stay." Coulson doesn't answer, so Clint just shakes his head and moves toward the door. Coulson doesn't stop him.

With his fingers on the handle, Clint pauses. He thinks they'll be okay, eventually, that Coulson will forgive him for Loki and for leaving, and they'll go back to sharing take-out on the floor and talking about comic books. There's a part of him that isn't sure, though, and he still has one question. "How does it end?"

Coulson's shoulders jump, like he's been shaken awake, and he walks around to sit at his desk, clearing his throat, back to business as usual. "How does what end?"

"The story. That first story with Steve and Peggy and the war. You never told me the end," Clint says, and Coulson frowns as he shuffles blindly through his paperwork.

“It’s a ridiculous story I wrote almost thirty years ago,” Coulson mutters. “What does it matter how it ends?”

“Matters to me.”

Coulson looks up, and Clint can see the edges starting to peel on his careful mask of pleasant indifference. “It... doesn’t. It didn’t. I never finished it.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because Steve died,” Coulson answers. “The plane went down, and he died. As far as anyone knew, that was how the story ended, and I couldn’t...”

“You couldn’t do that to them,” Clint finishes, and so many things suddenly make sense. “That’s what all the other stories were about. Giving them their happy ending.”

“Other...?” Coulson’s eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“There’s one thing I don’t get, though,” Clint goes on. “I mean, you wrote all these stories, and you wrote yourself into them.” Coulson makes a small, choked noise, his face reddening. “So why don’t you ever save the day and get the girl? Or guy. Why put yourself there at all if you’re just gonna be part of the background?”

Coulson gives him a look that is some pitiful combination of mortification and disbelief. “Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m serious!” Clint insists. “I don’t get it. Hundreds of thousands of words, and you never let yourself be the hero.”

“Because I’m not,” Coulson replies simply. “I wanted... I wanted to be part of of those adventures, and the most realistic way to cast myself was as helpful support. I’ve never been the hero type.”

Clint stands staring at him in silence, recalling all the brief glimpses of the fictional Peter Star and what they mean for the very real Phil Coulson. Finally, Clint spits, “You are so full of shit.”

Coulson sighs. “Barton...”

“You are _so_ full of shit. Is that what you think? That you’re just a walk-on part in someone else’s story?” Clint braces his hands on the desk and leans into Coulson's space, growling, “Is that why you threw yourself under the bus with Loki? Because you wanted to be a plot point in the origin of the Avengers?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Coulson says quietly, and Clint grips the desk harder to stop from grabbing Coulson by the shoulders and shaking him.

“You goddamn asshole. You’re not... You’re not just fucking furniture!” Clint’s shouting now, but he doesn’t care. “You have your own life and your own story. You get to save the world and have a freaking love interest. You _deserve_ that.”

Coulson fixes him with a level gaze. “So do you, you know.”

“You’re damn fucking right I do,” Clint says, and he knows, even as the words form, that it’s true. “I’ve got a bonafide character arc, with personal struggle and a love interest and shit. And maybe... Maybe I don’t get to be your love interest, like I wanted, but somebody oughta be. Call Audrey. Talk to Steve. Talk to, I dunno, that hot guy that works in legal. You deserve to have your own Peggy or Bucky or whoever you want. You deserve to be somebody’s Captain America. You’re sure as hell mine.”

It hangs between them like a flag unfurled, motionless in the stillness that follows. Coulson sits back, his expression blank, and it becomes very clear very quickly that he has nothing to say.

Clint straightens, shaking his head. “You’re so full of shit,” he says again, and he doesn’t pause again as he reaches for the door.

***

Title: Marriage of True Minds  
Author: startoevery  
Chapters: 2/2  
Fandom: Captain America - RPF  
Rating: General Audiences  
Warnings: None  
Relationships: Steve Rogers and OMC  
Characters: Steve Rogers, Original Male Character  
Additional Tags: Friendship, Bonding, BroTP, Found family  
Summary: Steve is still trying to adjust to his new rank. A stranger helps.  
Part 9 of An Ever-Fixed Mark

***

In the month that follows, Clint decides that maybe he does want Steve to like him just because Steve is a pretty great guy, and he’s pleasantly surprised when his overtures are met with a cheerful smile and friendly curiosity. Steve doesn’t ask him what his story is, but Clint tells him anyway, leaving out the parts that aren’t worth repeating, mostly those involving blood or broken bones. Steve comes back with a few stories of his own, and it’s easy to fall into a pattern of talking and listening and sharing a few beers. When Clint’s sentence is up, Steve helps him move what little he owns into the newly christened Avengers Tower, despite Stark’s insistence that he can pay people to do that.

“Clint’s paying me,” Steve replies blithely. “He’s buying me pizza and beer. That’s the tradition, right?”

Clint claps him on the shoulder, grinning. “You’re getting the hang of this twenty-first century thing, Cap.”

“That, and I like pizza,” Steve says. Stark just rolls his eyes and mutters about stubborn blonds.

After everything that’s happened, Clint expects to wait a good long time before he sees Coulson again, but he’s only just started to unpack when Jarvis announces calmly that he has a visitor.

Coulson has his arms crossed, shoulders so tense he looks like he might break, but he smiles and follows when Clint waves him inside. "I'm not bothering you, am I? I know you're busy with moving." 

"Of course not. I'm just, y'know, kinda surprised."

A burst of laughter from the next room cuts off Coulson's reply, and he frowns. "Oh. You have company. I'm sorry. I should have realized."

He turns to leave, and Clint stops him. "What? No. It's just Steve and Natasha. We've got pizza if you wanna..."

"No," Coulson says quickly. "No, thank you. I just wanted to... talk. To you."

"Okay." Clint shoves his hands in his pockets and waits expectantly, hoping this isn’t about to be a _Please don’t speak to me again_ speech. He doesn’t think it will be. Not really. Probably not. Maybe.

It seems to take Coulson a moment to collect his thoughts, then, with the air of something rehearsed in the mirror, he begins, “I’ve given a lot of thought to what you said, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I owe you a rather long list of apologies.”

Clint leans back, startled. “What the hell for?”

“For being obtuse? All the times you wanted me to stay, offering to make me breakfast, trying to take care of me, listening to me babble... I should have seen what you were doing, but I just... it never even occurred to me that you would... that you might...” Coulson shakes his head. “I think I may have been a bit of an asshole, or at least extremely oblivious.”

“Little bit,” Clint admits, and Coulson gives him a rueful smile. “But I could’ve been a little more upfront about it.”

“No, I think your signals were more than clear, and I did everything I could to shut you out without even realizing it.” There’s a sadness in his voice that Clint wants to grab hold of and kiss away, but impulses like that are what got them here, in the first place. “I honestly don’t know why you kept at it as long as you did.”

Clint shrugs. “You’re worth the effort.”

For a moment, Coulson looks completely taken aback. Then he clears his throat and goes on, “I also think you were right, that I’ve tended to take a back seat to my own life, as it were, and I want to... not do that, anymore.”

“Good,” Clint says, nodding, even if he suspects that Coulson’s new and improved life will probably involve a lot less Clint. “Good. That’s good.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Coulson explains. “I mean, to apologize and thank you, obviously, but also... Well, I thought showing up on your doorstep and asking you to dinner seemed like a Leading Man thing to do.”

It takes a second for the dots to connect in Clint’s head. “Wait. What?”

“I suppose you’ve already had dinner, though, so that sort of undercuts my plan,” Coulson says. “And I feel like I should have brought flowers. Or chocolate. Or arrows. Can you get bouquets of arrows?”

It’s a mercy, really, that Clint kisses him, because he thinks Coulson might have gone on talking forever. There’s no way to know what number kiss this is, there’ve been too many to count, but it feels like a first, like the kind at the end of the movie that fades away into rolling credits.

From the doorway, Natasha drawls, “ _Finally_.”

They break away with a jump and look up to find Natasha and Steve watching them with identical shit-eating grins and sharing a bowl of popcorn. 

“Congratulations. You make a cute couple,” Steve says cheerfully.

Coulson clears his throat and looks like he wants to disappear through the floor. “I should... I was just...”

He moves toward the front door, but Clint catches his wrist gently. Narrowing his eyes at Steve and Natasha, Clint asks, “You guys need something?”

“Steve needs to see _Star Wars_ , and we have to agree on a viewing order,” Natasha informs him, and Steve nods. “Also, we’re going to order Thai.”

“We just had three pizzas.”

Steve finishes a mouthful of popcorn and only sounds a little sheepish as he says, “Super soldier metabolism.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Fine, but can you give us, like, five minutes?”

“No,” Natasha replies.

“Don’t mind us,” Steve says.

“I hate both of you.” Turning back to Coulson, who still looks ready to bolt, Clint asks, “Do you want to watch _Star Wars_ and make-out until they get sick of us and leave?”

“That seems a little rude,” Steve remarks, and Clint ignores him.

He fully expects Coulson to say no, at which point Clint will have to find a way to force a super soldier and a master spy out of his apartment, but, after a moment of obviously tense deliberation, Coulson lets out a heavy breath. “I think I’d like that, yes.”

The grin that breaks across Clint’s face is probably ridiculous, but he has zero fucks to give. All of his concern is caught up in the smile that Coulson beams back at him.

“Oh god. And I thought their pining was obnoxious,” Natasha huffs.

“I think it’s sweet,” Steve says.

“Of course you do.”

“That’s because I have a functional sense of romance.”

“It’s because you haven’t been putting up with them for years.”

They keep bickering as they head back into the living room, Clint and Coulson trailing behind them. It’s not a picture-perfect first date, but, when Clint reaches out to take his hand, Coulson lets him. So, as stories go, Clint figures this isn’t a bad beginning.

***

Title: Nor No Man Ever Loved  
Author: startoevery  
Chapters: 1/?  
Fandom: Avengers - RPF  
Rating: Mature  
Warnings: None  
Relationships: Hawkeye (Avengers)/OMC  
Characters: Hawkeye (Avengers), Original Male Character  
Additional Tags: Get-together, First date, Fluff, Pining, Slightly awkward sex, Friends-to-lovers  
Summary: Something old and something new.

***

Maria is ensconced on the couch with a bottle of wine and a pile of paperwork when Natasha comes in smelling of salt and pad thai. “Hey. How was moving?”

Natasha toes off her boots by the door and flops gracefully onto the one empty bit of couch. How anyone can flop gracefully is beyond Maria, but it’s Natasha. “It was fine. Barton barely owns enough to fill the trunk of a volkswagen, so it went quickly. We spent most of the day educating Steve on modern food and culture.”

“Pizza and _Star Wars_?”

Natasha nods, smiling. “The real highlight of the evening was when Coulson showed up.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Maria puts down the requisition report she’s been staring at. “What happened?”

“Declarations. Kissing. Dry humping on the floor.” Natasha waves her hand dismissively. “In any case, they seem to have gotten the first layer of their issues sorted.”

Maria heaves a massive sigh of relief. “Fucking _finally_. God, I was getting so sick of Barton and his fucking plans.”

“I _know_ ,” Natasha groans. “Another week, and I would have tied them both to a set of train tracks until they had it figured out.”

“That’s probably what it’ll take for them to get through the rest of their issues,” Maria points out, and Natasha tilts her head in agreement. “Are they as irritatingly sappy as we thought they’d be?”

“Worse.” Natasha makes a face. “Rogers is encouraging them.”

“Oh god.”

“Exactly.” Natasha rises smoothly from the couch, stretching so that a sliver of skin is visible above her waistband, and Maria knows beyond a doubt that the motion is done for exactly that effect. “I’m going to go take a shower,” Natasha informs her, “and you’re going to join me.”

Maria grins and shuffles the rest of the paperwork aside. “Well, how am I supposed to argue with that?”

“You’re not,” Natasha replies simply, and Maria pulls her into a kiss.

Those idiots can keep their epic romance, Maria thinks. She’s got her love story all figured out.


End file.
